


Icing on the Cake

by fudebusho



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cupcakes, F/M, Romantic Comedy, SO MUCH FLUFF, Soul Bond, Soulmarks, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, like marshmallow fluff levels of fluff, seriously go brush your teeth after reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudebusho/pseuds/fudebusho
Summary: “Change in plans,” Sam says as he bangs on the door to the shed where Bucky is currently cowering in fear and humiliation.  “I’m going to go get Steve and bring him back here.  You watch the place.  And Barnes,” – he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to be serious – “try not to get tased.”





	Icing on the Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaTessitrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/gifts).



> So here’s a fluffy little fluff of romantic fluff which happens to be the latest of belated birthday presents for the wonderful [LaTessitrice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/pseuds/LaTessitrice) (sorry for the tardiness, darling).
> 
> In my defense, I had wanted it to be a porny 5 +1 and it wanted to be a sweet funny romantic fluffy festival of herding cats. 
> 
> It won.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and happy happy happy belated birthday! <3
> 
> Beta-ed by the fantastic [DizzyReadhead](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead). 
> 
> All mistakes, British/American incoherence, and general foolishness are totally mine.

Darcy Lewis is baking cupcakes.

Not just any cupcakes, mind you –  _ special _ cupcakes.  Not special as in a special occasion, but special because she just watched a marathon of The Great British Bake Off and is therefore in dire need of some good old simple carbohydrates (specifically, the cakey kind).  And everybody knows that cupcakes are better than regular cake, mainly because of their inherent cuteness but also because the cake-to-icing ratio is vastly superior.  (That last bit, of course, has not been imparted by the experts of the GBBO, but is rather Darcy’s own personal opinion, which eleven times out of ten can be counted as the complete and utter truth).

Because she never does things by half-measures, she has a tray of cupcakes already frosted and ready for eating, a second tray in the oven, and a third tray cooling on the counter waiting for their moment under the pastry bag.  Never mind that Darcy can’t possibly eat so many cupcakes by herself – only three different flavors will satisfy her craving.  Who knows? Perhaps she’ll have a bake sale – or maybe she’ll become the cupcake fairy godmother and distribute free treats to the homeless living by the Metro station.  Even better, maybe Thor will come by and demolish the lot – that is, if he actually shows up for a change.  She doubts that Heimdall will send him an intergalactic message along the lines of “come and get it”.

Either way, she’s in the kitchen of the London house that she shares with Jane, busily hand-mixing up a batch of chocolate icing, the combined noise of the mixer and her iPod being the reason why she misses the first (polite) knock on the front door.  

Cursing at the grainy consistency of said icing and grumbling as to why the British measure butter in grams instead of tablespoons (thereby throwing off her entire baking mojo) is why she misses the second (slightly louder) knock.

The ringing of the doorbell has her completely confused – she pulls out an earbud to check on the oven, but the timer still has three minutes to go.

It’s finally the sound of muffled voices from the front step that prompts her to march over to the door and yank it open, only to narrowly miss being kicked in the stomach by some hobo-looking dude in his attempt to knock down the door.

“Hey!” She yells at the seriously hot – but totally menacing – dude and his equally hot partner-in-crime, slamming the door closed and bolting for her bag, which she’d haphazardly flung on the sofa when returning from the grocery.  “You clowns better get away from my door or you’re going to get 50,000 volts in the face!”

“Wait a minute, please,” a friendly – albeit strained –  _ American _ voice sounds from behind the door.  “We’re not here to hurt you – we’re here to help you.”

“The hell you are!”  Darcy snarls, because hot or not she isn’t going to back down to jack-booted thugs, fellow countrymen or otherwise.  “People who help other people don’t kick in doors.  Now, you have exactly five seconds to get out of here before I’m calling the police.  Or SHIELD.  Or someone with guns – just get lost!”

“No, don’t call the feds,” responds the (now somewhat panicky) voice.  “You really don’t want to do that.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to do!  You’re going down, mister.  Well, misters.  Both of you.” By this point, she has her taser in one hand and her mobile phone in the other, thumb hovering over her frequent-dial button for that stuffed-suit of a SHIELD agent from Puente Antiguo.  At least she  _ hopes _ that the guy is still SHIELD – she’s watched the news and the internet chatter and he hasn’t been outed as HYDRA …  _ yet _ .

“Wait, just wait a minute,  _ please _ , Miss Lewis. You’re on a list.”

Even though it sounds too suspicious to be true, Darcy’s curiosity gets the better of her.  “Yeah?  Start talking.”

“Fair enough.  Have you been watching the news?”

She decides to give him the benefit of the doubt, seeing as he probably isn’t the one who nearly kicked her.

“Well, yeah, duh.  What’s left of the Avengers have been co-opted by a megalomaniac who claims to be representing the UN.”

A noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort comes from the other side of the door.  “Who knew that a space-head would know what’s what when talking about world events?”

“Well, you know,” Darcy preens, just a little bit, “Not all of us space-heads are airheads.  And some of us couldn’t even be called space-heads.”

Silence, then a chuckle.  “I never thought you were an airhead … but then again, I can’t tell from out here on the front step.”

She yanks the door open for a second time and glares at the scruffy-looking thug (the look of whom may or may not … well,  _ do _ things for her.  Like, a  _ lot _ ) while speaking to his talkative friend. 

“You can’t blame me for being cautious.”

The scruffy guy tensely eyes the taser pointed at him as her focus switches to his friend.  “Wait, you – you’re the Falcon!”  She tucks the weapon under her arm and reaches out to shake Sam’s hand, ignoring the other guy completely.  “Oh, wow, I saw you on TV a while ago but you’re even cuter in person.”

Sam coughs, embarrassed.  “Well, uh, that’s – ”

Just then they are interrupted by the ‘ding’ of the oven timer.  Casting a wary glance at the Falcon’s grumpy sidekick, she opens the door all the way.  “You can come in – as long as you make  _ him _ behave.”  Smiling at Sam with nary a glance for the other man, she sashays into the kitchen as they follow behind her.  And if Sam gives Barnes a shit-eating grin on the way, Darcy is none the wiser.

“So, what are you up to in here?”  Sam’s voice is bright as he enters the kitchen.  “It smells amazing, almost as good as my momma’s kitchen back home.”

“Yeah?”  Darcy retorts, a smile in her voice as she lifts the tray of hot chocolate cupcakes out of the oven.  “I’d say that my baking smells better, but I’m much too smart to get between a Southern boy and his momma.”  Shuffling the contents of the small counter to make space, she tosses a few bowls and spoons into the sink.  “And you haven’t told me about the list that you mentioned, by the way.  Don’t think that you can just come in here and sweet-talk me into giving up my weapon.”

Falcon and the would-be door-kicker shoot each other a glance behind her back as she maneuvers the tray into the open counter space left behind. 

“Darcy ….” Sam leads, prompting her.

“Yep, Darcy Lewis, in the flesh,” she smiles, taking the oven mitts off.  “But you haven’t told me how you know my name.”

Another hesitant glance between the two has her hesitating, her smile giving way to suspicion again.  “Wait, you know about me but don’t want to tell me why?  That’s … kind of not cool, guys.”

“We need to secure the area first.”  Sam’s face is now deadly serious, his jovial mood gone.

“Secure the area – you’re being ridiculous, dude.  This is my place – well, mine and Jane’s, not some heinous crime scene or whatever.  Would you like a cupcake?”  She smiles at Sam again, who glances at Grumpy, worried.  Grumpy frowns back at Sam, his face going stony.

“Do you know where Dr. Foster is?  Or Thor?”  Sam turns his attention back to Darcy.

“Oh, that’s no biggie.  Thor’s not on planet right now, it’s too bad too – I wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with all of these cupcakes, you know?  The big guy has a sweet tooth and can put these away like nobody’s business.  I wouldn’t have to hold a bake sale.  Or, you know, if you and your sidekick want to help a girl out … ?”

If Barnes’ expression could have gotten any darker, Darcy couldn’t tell.  As it was, she knew that the sidekick comment burned but at this point she didn’t care.  If the hobo hottie look did things for her, then the murderous hobo hottie look might actually make her burst into flames on the spot and her ovaries seemed to want his attention any way they could get it.

Sam laughs at that.  “Our, ah, coworker – well, friend, is looking for Dr. Foster, since you’re both equally in danger.  You see, we could use someone like Thor on our side and if he’s off-world then the only way to get to him is through the two of you.  I’d hate to see the other guys get to you first …”

“Is that a threat?  Because it sounds like a threat.”

Sam straightens up and looks her dead in the eye.  “No, ma’am, that’s not a threat.  We want to protect all three of you.  The powers that be seem to think of him as nothing but a weapon and we need to warn him.”

Darcy laughs.  “Dude, he’s a prince of an alien planet.  You think that he can’t take care of himself?”

“Again, it’s not Thor that we’re worried about.”

She hears a long-suffering sigh from behind her but decides that she is going to ignore the hot hobo sidekick and keep addressing Sam.  “Yeah, okay, that seems fair.  If you haven’t met Jane yet then you don’t know how she’s going to take being Avenger-napped anyway – you probably had an easier time dealing with murder-bots than with her on a rampage.” 

Sam throws his head back and laughs, a warm, rich sound that fills the kitchen.  “I don’t know about that, Darcy, those murder-bots packed a pretty mean punch.”

Darcy snorts.  “Yeah, next time you see Thor, ask him how his brother liked Jane’s punch.”

Sam whistles then.  “She sounds like a firecracker.”

“Only when she’s on a roll, other times she’s a total creampuff.  Now, as for me, I’ve been called a pistol many times.”  She flicks a glance over to Barnes, wondering if anything will crack his deadpan face.  “Mostly by guys who can’t keep up.”

“Aww, now that’s not exactly fair.  Who could keep up with a pretty girl like you?”  Sam turns on the Southern charm as Darcy blushes in pleasure. 

“Just for that, Mr. Falcon, you get a cupcake.  The chocolate ones aren’t cool yet, but I’m just about done with these mocha ones …”

“I accept,” he says with a laugh.  “And you can call me Sam.”

Darcy quickly frosts a mocha cupcake and hands it to Sam.  “And what should I call Mr. Big Bad over there?  Does he have a name?”  Casting a quick glance at Barnes – who really  _ does _ look thunderous by this point – she looks back at Sam, who is just taking a bite of the coffee-flavored cake.

“Oh, man, this is  _ soooo _ good,” he moans, mumbling around a mouthful of cake.  “Sorry – I know better than to talk with my mouth full, but I can’t help it.” Swallowing, he gestures to Barnes.  “He’s James Barnes, but I just call him Barnes.”

If Darcy knows who ‘just Barnes’ is, well, she doesn’t let on.  Turning to him, she smiles saucily.  “Well, Mr. Barnes,” she gestures to a plate of prettily frosted white cakes sitting on the table in front of them.  “You seem like a plain vanilla kind of guy to me.”

Sam chokes on his cupcake, his eyes watering, trying to hold back a hoot of laughter.  Barnes shoots him a glare, then stalks over to where Darcy is leaning against the counter, her eyes dancing merrily.  He silently looms over her, his piercing glare all but unreadable. 

Pressing his tall frame against her, wedging her between his solid body and the counter –  _ oh sweet Jesus just strike me down now _ , she thinks, her insides clenching in surprise and arousal – he reaches around behind her back.  Her heart catches in her throat at his unexpected proximity and she gapes up at him until he withdraws his arm, an oven-fresh unfrosted chocolate cupcake in his gloved hand.

He turns and stomps out of the kitchen, past Sam who is still choking on laughter and cake crumbs.  In the distance, the door slams.

“Hoo boy, just wait until Steve gets a load of this.”

*  *  *  *  *

True to their word, the Falcon and James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes (because jeez, of  _ course _ Darcy knows who he is, she paid attention in American History class) hang around for the next few hours, ‘securing’ the place while she frosts the remaining cupcakes and then picks up her latest knitting project. 

Darcy is more than pleased to pass the time with Sam, who happens to be an excellent conversationalist – not to mention funny as hell.  Barnes, though … well, he makes endless circuits inside and outside of the house, checking doors and windows and repeatedly inspecting the garden wall.  It drives her nuts just to watch him pace, and the entire time he doesn’t say a word to her.

“Say, Sam, do you think that you could convince Mr. Wind-up Menace out there to give it a rest?  I know that being on guard is a hard habit to break, but he’s really not doing a good job of being inconspicuous, you know?”  She sighs.  “Our neighbors are totally nosy as it is and they just love to be all up in our business.  Having him pace around like that is going to be hard to cover up.”

“I hear you.  Been traveling with him for a couple weeks now and it’s near impossible to get him to calm down,” Sam notes drily.  “Try riding halfway across Europe in a VW bug with the man.  Waterboarding would have been easier – well, except that I had shotgun.”

“You what now?” Darcy laughs, peeking through the blinds and watching the dark shadow testing the door on the garden shed –  _ for the sixth time _ .  “Seriously, he’s gotta stop.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sam promises, rising from the sofa and heading towards the door. 

“Cool.  In the meantime, I assume that you two are staying the night?  I was going to call for takeaway, do you like Indian food?”

Sam stops in his tracks.

“Well, to be honest I hadn’t thought about staying here.  We were just planning to check on you and leave, although the place does seem safe – for now.”  He nods.  “Although I wonder about your self-preservation, letting us crash here after knowing us for only a couple of hours.”

“True.  But I do have my taser, and you guys are playing the Avengers card, so I figure it’s a draw.”

Sam laughs as he’s halfway through the door.  “Fair enough.  And yes, Indian food sounds great.”

Not five minutes later, the door opens again. 

Without bothering to look up from her project, Darcy calls out to Sam.  “Oh hey, were you successful?  Did you get the murder hobo to knock it off with his OCD?”

Silence.

She feels an ominous presence in the room. Her stomach drops, goosebumps instantly break out on her skin, and she feels a prickle of arousal start on the back of her neck.   _ God, stop it _ , she tells herself.   _ Why do you have no self-control around this man? _

Laughing nervously, she looks up at said murder hobo, who is standing in the center of the room and staring intently at her.

“Heheh, umm … yeah, did Sam ask you to stop pacing around the yard?  Because your tough-guy act is going to get noticed, you know.”

Silence.

“Well, did he tell you that I was going to order some Indian food for dinner?  ‘Cause I am.  Is there anything specific that you like?  The place up on the corner has amazing saag paneer, do you like that?  Or are you more of an animal protein kind of guy?  Because I can totally order some lamb rogan josh if you want. Or, you know, if you don’t want Indian, I can probably put something together out of what I have in the fridge.  There’s not much, though, plus I sort of wore myself out what with baking all of those cupcakes.  But I would do it for you guys, though, if you want.”  Darcy is well aware that she is rambling by now, but faced with his ominous silence she can’t seem to stop.  “Oh!  Unless you would rather just eat cupcakes.  They’re all iced now, so just help yourself, okay?  And I promise, the vanilla ones aren’t poisoned.  They’re actually my favorite. Hey, did you know that vanilla comes from orchids?”

This time he doesn’t even look at her, just stalks out of the room – no doubt to check the lock on the front door yet again.

Darcy actually facepalms, nearly poking herself in the eye with a knitting needle.

“Vanilla comes from orchids?   _ Really _ ?”

_ Smooth, Darcy _ .

*  *  *  *  *

“Any word from Steve?”  Bucky’s voice is rough as he approaches Sam, who is fiddling with the burner phone while standing inconspicuously in the far back corner of the garden.

Sam turns to his partner.  “The girl is right, man, you absolutely cannot be stomping around here attracting attention like that.”  He sighs.  “I know that you can do stealth.  Your reputation precedes you.  Start behaving like the Winter Soldier and less like a grumpy piss-baby in the middle of a tantrum, got it?”

“What did she say?”

Sam resists the temptation to throw back his head and laugh. 

“What is this, high school?  You can forget it, I’m not passing notes between the two of you.”  He side-eyes Bucky, his face serious.   “I don’t know, man, this is supposed to be a mission, not two lovestruck kids making googly-eyes at each other.  What has gotten into you?  You see one pretty girl and suddenly all of the sense leaves your head?”

“She said my words,” Bucky mumbles under his breath, looking down and away.

“What?  I didn’t hear you.”

“She said my words,” Bucky says, a little louder, but still in a hoarse whisper.  It wouldn’t do for anyone – besides Sam, who he knows and begrudgingly trusts, to find out that Darcy Lewis is apparently his one and only soulmate.

Sam just stares at him, shellshocked.

“That’s … I just thought that …”  Sam’s voice trails off, and he just stares at Bucky for a few awkward minutes.

“What?” Bucky bristles.  “You don’t think I’m good enough for her?”

“No, I just thought that Steve was your soulmate, you know?”  Sam looks at the phone, at the house, anywhere but at Bucky directly.

“Nah,” Bucky laughs bitterly.  “Punk’s clean.  He never got words, least not that I know of.  ‘Sides, it’s not like that.  I love him, but I’m not  _ in  _ love with him, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”   

Bucky squints at Sam for a moment.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you.”

Sam stiffens for a moment, his mouth open, ready to deny, but then droops, all of the fight draining out of him.  He sighs.  “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, not really.  I mean, not until just now.”  Bucky smirks.  “Now who’s acting like a lovesick kid?”

Sam laughs and looks at the burner phone again.  “Not me, man.  I know how to focus.”

Bucky smirks.  “Yeah, that’s why you’re hanging onto that phone like a teenage girl with her first crush …”

“Hey, hey, hey – did teenage girls even  _ have _ phones back in your day?  Because I don’t think that you have the information to back up that claim.”

Bucky laughs – he actually snickers – and punches Sam lightly in the shoulder.  “Sure, we just had party lines so the whole neighborhood knew about the crush before you did.” 

The two men laugh in a rare moment of levity before Sam’s face falls.  “Still, though, we gotta figure this out, man.  We were supposed to find the girl, secure the area, and then rendezvous with Steve and Dr. Foster.  Obviously we can’t leave her behind, not now.”

Bucky goes rigid.  “Taking her with us – that’s going to raise red flags everywhere.”

“You can’t be serious.”  Sam gives Bucky the side-eye.  “You want to just leave your soulmate in Ross’ way?  Or in HYDRA’s?”

Bucky shakes his head.  “She doesn’t know that she’s my soulmate.  Nobody does, except you.”

“What?  How does she not know?”  Sam is incredulous.  “Wait, you haven’t actually  _ said _ anything to her?  That’s – that’s just not right!”

Bucky sets his jaw, resolute.  “I gotta keep her safe, man.  Safest place for her is here, not knowing.”

Sam gives him that  _ look _ .  “You’re full of it, Barnes.  Go find Darcy and get her ready to leave.  I’ll call Steve and we’ll figure this out.”

“Nope.  Non-negotiable.”  Bucky shakes his head.  “I can’t risk it.  Ross, HYDRA – you don’t know what either one will do to her.”

“Non-negotiable is leaving her here and then something happens.”  Sam turns toward the house, phone in hand.  “If you won't say anything to her, then I will – we’ve got to switch things up a little bit.  Won’t be the first time that priorities have shifted during a mission.”

“No.” Bucky’s arm – the real one – shoots out and grabs Sam by the shoulder.  “You’re right.  I just … I don’t know what to say, you know?  I mean, what if … what if I screw it up?  What if she doesn’t like me?  What if she gets hurt because of me?”  He’s nearly shaking, now, tense with the millions of ‘what-if’ scenarios going through his brain, each one worse than the last.

“Now you’re just overthinking it,” Sam says reassuringly.  “Weren’t you supposed to be the legendary ladies’ man?  Besides – whatever you say – it’s going to be the right thing, it’s written right there on her skin, right?  And I don’t think that you have to worry about her not liking you.  Girl’s been giving you the eye all afternoon.”

Bucky shakes his head, miserable.  He’s been a ball of nervous energy ever since Darcy opened the front door.  Love at first sight doesn’t begin to cover it – he’s wanted to kiss that smart mouth of hers from the moment he first saw her, since she threatened him with a taser.  Then, later, in the kitchen … well, it’s a miracle that she didn’t figure out how goddamned turned on he was as he helped himself to her cupcakes.  If Sam hadn’t been in the room, well …

“I’ll talk to her,” he grinds out.  “You just get on that phone to Steve and figure out how we’re gonna work this, okay?”

Sam laughs again, hitting the speed dial button and raising the phone to his ear.  “Will do.  Now go get your girl.”

*   *   *   *   *

Bucky enters the house, quietly this time, increasingly nervous as to what he’s supposed to say.

_ What if – what if I say the wrong thing?  If I have her words but she doesn’t have mine?  What if – _

He stops in mid-thought, in mid-step, because Darcy isn’t in the living room.  Or the kitchen.  Or the dining room, all of which he can see from his vantage point in the hallway.  The front door is still locked, and although he’s frantic at the thought of something happening to her – of the possibility of someone sneaking in and grabbing her while he and Sam were out jawing at each other in the backyard – he forces himself to calm down, to quietly pull his gun and let his training take over.  He stealthily climbs to the second floor rather than taking the stairs three at a time like he really wants to. 

_ Please be here, please be okay _ , he silently prays to whoever -- whatever -- is listening. 

Just then, he hears water running from behind a closed door.  It opens to Darcy drying her hands on a fluffy towel, humming to herself.  He gets a glimpse of a pink-tiled bathroom, every surface filled with bottles and jars, before she flicks the light switch off and turns into the hallway. She yelps in surprise as she notices him standing in the shadows, gun drawn.  Backing away with her hands in the air, she ducks back into the bathroom and slams the door.

“Don’t shoot!”  Her voice is muffled as the door lock clicks shut, but with his enhanced hearing he can hear her scrambling into the bathtub.  Bucky stops, deeply hurt that she would be afraid of him, but then he remembers that he still hasn’t said anything to her – that she doesn’t know that they are soulmates – and that she has no reason in the world to trust him.  That  _ and _ he’s still carrying a gun.  Maybe Sam was wrong, and his legendary ladykilling skills have left him.

Maybe he should stop using the term ladykilling in this context and _actually_ _talk_ to Darcy.

He starts to respond that he wasn’t going to shoot – but realizes that he cannot have cursed such a pretty girl to a lifetime of those words on her skin.  At this point he doesn’t know what he actually wants to say ... or do.  Tucking the gun in his holster and his proverbial tail between his legs, he slinks, dejected, back down the stairway to find Sam.   

Or maybe just disappear altogether.  He hasn’t decided.

*   *   *   *   *

Of all the ways that this mission could go sideways, Sam couldn’t possibly have predicted this.  They’re supposed to rendezvous – along with the girl – on the outskirts of town in an hour and a half.  He’s got a traumatized Barnes hiding in the garden shed and a terrified Darcy locked in an upstairs bathroom.  The burner phone has been used up and there’s no way for him to get back in touch with Steve to say “Oh, hey, by the way – your boy found his soulmate but he’s gone and screwed up.”

Sam sighs.

_ I am not getting paid enough for this shit. _

*   *   *   *   *

_ Sitting in the bathtub is pretty damn uncomfortable when it’s empty _ , Darcy muses.  She can tell that James has left the building because all of the tension – sexual and otherwise – is gone.  She wasn’t one-hundred-percent certain that he was going to shoot her, but then again she wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t, hence her (over)reaction.

_ Okay, so that was not my proudest moment.  Whatever. _

She’s clambering ungracefully out of the tub when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.  She freezes.

“Darcy?”  Sam calls, and she lets out a breath that she didn’t realize that she was holding.

“Hey, Sam, just a second.”  Opening the door, she fixes him with a wide smile.  “Ah, yeah.  Sorry about that.  Is, um, everything okay out here?”  She pokes a head out of the doorway and glances this way and that.

“No, we should be the ones apologizing.”  Sam smiles sadly.  “Well, not me, but Barnes.  He was worried that something had happened to you, actually.”

Darcy snorts.

“Could have fooled me,” she retorts acidly.  “Guy comes up here while I’m powdering my nose, waving his gun around …”  She shakes her head.  “Scared the crap out of me, actually.”  She sags against the wall, the adrenaline draining from her system and leaving her feeling boneless.

Sam sighs.  “Listen, he … he meant well.  And that’s all I can say, really.  He’s a good guy, Darcy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head, his face sympathetic.  “I’m not going into detail, but trust me – you need to give him a chance.”  Straightening up, he changes the topic.  “Now, I know that I said that we were going to crash here for the night, but things have changed.  We’ve gotta hit the road and we’re going to bring you with us.”

“What! No,” Darcy squawks.  “I’m not going anywhere with you and Mr. Trigger-Happy out there.  Hell, I don’t even really  _ know _ you – for all I know you could be impostors.  Crap.  You’re not impostors, are you?  Because if you are then I’m really screwed.  My taser is downstairs.”

“No, I really am the Falcon,” Sam promises.  “I will show you my wings the first chance I get.”

“Cool beans,” Darcy replies.  “But that still doesn’t mean that I am going to abandon Jane and take off with you guys.”

“You won’t be abandoning Dr. Foster.  Steve is with her now, we’re going to rendezvous at 21:00.”

“Steve?  You mean like Steve Rogers, Captain America?”  Darcy tilts her head to one side, starstruck.  “He’s with Jane?”

Sam grins.  “Yes ma’am.”

“So if he’s with Jane, why don’t they just come here?  That would totally make more sense.”

“Because it’s not safe.”

“Why?  Why is it not safe?  What is going on that you guys aren’t telling me?”  Darcy demands.  “You come in here, kicking in doors and waving guns around, then tell me that we’re sneaking off under cover of darkness to who knows where because of some unspoken threat.”  She pokes a finger at Sam’s chest.  “You may be Avengers but you’re totally shit at dealing with civilians, you know that?  I mean, Jane and I are used to rolling with it, we’ve lived with Thor.  He’s about as unsubtle as they come and brings trouble with him wherever he goes but at least he never tried to pull this shady stuff on us, you know?  So I want you to go out there, get your thug out of my shed, and call your patriotic pal and tell him that he has to come here if he wants to get on Team Science’s good side.  I can bet you that Jane has probably told him the same thing and Captain  _ Freaking _ America should be shaking in his boots right about now if he’s got any sense.”  

Darcy has fire in her eyes and Sam doesn’t know whether to be scared or awed.  Or both, actually.

“ … yes, ma’am.”  Sam didn’t spend eighteen years of his life under his momma’s roof without learning a healthy sense of respect for the female of the species.  So he does what any self-respecting Southern boy does when faced with such wrath:

He runs.

*   *   *   *   *

“Change in plans,” Sam says as he bangs on the door to the shed where Bucky is currently cowering in fear and humiliation.  “I’m going to go get Steve and bring him back here.  You watch the place.  And Barnes,” – he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to be serious – “try not to get tased.”

*   *   *   *   *

Sam’s not gone five minutes before there is a sharp, insistent knock on the front door.  Darcy heads downstairs to open it but of course James freaking Barnes is there as well, drawn to attention, pressed against the wall with gun drawn and aimed at the door.  He gestures towards the staircase with his chin, but she fixes him with a haughty glare and moves into the foyer, only to have him firmly grab her forearm in his gloved hand – not hard enough to hurt, but enough for her to think twice about yanking it away.  They stand there in a stare-off for what feels like hours before the knocking starts again.

“Miss Foster?  Miss Lewis?”  A high-pitched female voice calls from the other side of the door.  “Are you home?  Are you well?”

_ Oh, god, it’s Mrs. Bucket _ .  Jane and Darcy had taken great delight at christening their obnoxiously nosy neighbor after the sitcom character, making fun of her at every opportunity.  It’s hardly any surprise that the woman would be over to investigate as soon as Sam left the premises.

“Neighbor,” Darcy mouths at James Barnes.  He ponders this for a moment, then nods at her.  She takes this to mean that she can talk.

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Wrentham,” Darcy calls through the door.  “I’m here, I’m fine, just a minute.”  She tilts her head at the door, miming the action of opening it, and he hesitates before giving a tight nod.  Drawing himself back into the vestibule behind the door, he flicks his eyes at the doorknob before staring at Darcy.

She opens the door maybe a foot and a half, just enough to talk but not enough to give anybody a clear shot into the house.  She does a double-take at her own paranoia.  

_ What even is my life … _

“Hi, neighbor, what’s up?”  Darcy grins brightly at the elderly woman.  “We haven’t talked in, like, hours.”

Mrs. Wrentham purses her lips.  “Well, dear, I just thought that I should check on you.  I noticed that you had … well,  _ men _ in your garden.”  She drops her voice conspiratorially at the last part of the sentence.

Darcy laughs and very pointedly avoids glancing over at James.  “Oh, yeah, we just had some exterminators by.  They’re gone now, though.  Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, really?  Because I thought I saw two, but only one left.”

Darcy can see James pull himself up a little straighter from his vantage point behind the door.  Not knowing what he would do next, she plows forward in the conversation.

“Really?  Are you positive?  Because one left by the front door and one left via the garden gate.  The second guy had muddy boots from being outside and I didn’t want him to track dirt all through the house, you know?  I’ve just vacuumed and I would hate to have to do it again.  Oh, speaking of housework, I have a big pile of dishes just waiting to be done.  I don’t want to keep you, but thanks for stopping by to check on us.  We really appreciate it, we do!”  Forcing a huge smile on her face, Darcy turns to close the door, but the woman isn’t done.

“Oh, dear, exterminators?”  She tuts.  “There hasn’t been a pest problem in this neighborhood in years, I do hope that it’s nothing serious …”

With a grin, Darcy replies.  “Rats,” she says, before closing the door firmly.  "Oh, and for the last time, it's Dr. Foster!"

Both she and James hear the woman gasping in shock on the other side of the door, then muttering to herself “Terrible people, they are,” as she stomps off.

Darcy muffles her laughter behind a closed fist as James looks at her with something akin to respect – or maybe affection? – and her laugh trails off into an awkward clearing of the throat as she flushes in embarrassment.

“I, well, yeah, so,” she stammers, very mindful of the fact that he may be dangerous but that she also kinda wants to jump his bones.  “I, uh, wasn’t kidding about the dishes.  I should just, um, head into the kitchen and do those now, while you keep checking door locks or whatever it is you’re going to do.” 

He tucks the gun back in its holster as she babbles on nervously.

“Seriously, you can go back upstairs if you want, but don’t go outside, okay?  Because Mrs. Wrentham is just going to see you again and then she’ll call the police and that is probably a really bad thing because it will mess up the plan but you’re also a wanted man, right?  So I would say just hang out in here, unless you want to come and watch me scrub pans.  Or eat cupcakes, you still haven’t tried the vanilla ones and they’re awesome.  Hey, did you know that vanilla used to be considered an aphrodisiac?”

“Forget the vanilla,” James  _ finally  _ grinds out as he crowds her back into the wall, dipping his head down to hers and pulling her into a bruising kiss.  

Darcy would grin if she could – and maybe throw in a fist-pump for good measure – because he did it, he really did it, he actually said her soul-words.  It’s what she has been waiting for her whole life, and it had to be him, it just  _ had _ to be, the way she reacted to him at the very first glance.  But she is barely capable of stringing a thought together for how good his mouth feels on hers.

And not just his mouth.  He wedges a leg in between hers, spears a hand into her hair, cradling her head, and continues to give her the most intense, most thorough kiss of her life.  It’s as if he has invaded every bit of her space, filled every one of her senses.  All she can feel is him, pressing against her, surrounding her, narrowing down her entire universe to just James Barnes and James Barnes alone.

But Darcy is no passenger on this ride.  She cups her hands around his face and fiercely kisses him right back, opening her mouth to his, nibbling on his lower lip.  He pulls back, taking a deep breath, then presses their foreheads together, finally, finally smiling.  His eyes light up as he rubs the tip of his nose against hers.

“Been looking for you for a long time, Darcy Lewis.  I was beginning to lose hope that I’d ever find you.”

She grins right back at him, her lips kiss-swollen and pink.  “Let me guess, James Barnes … you  _ are _ a plain vanilla kind of guy!”

He chuckles quietly, and the sound reverberates through her, sending tendrils of joy through her body and surrounding her heart.  If it was up to her, she’d hear that sound every second of every day for the rest of her life.

“Yes,” he nuzzles at her temple.  “Yes, I am.”


End file.
